


Fall in You

by ObsidianMichi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eirwen Lavellan learns Solas' true identity after she drinks from the Well of Sorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall in You

**Author's Note:**

> The suggested listening for this story is "Over You" by Ingrid Michaelson.

Slowly, Eirwen Lavellan lay a hand on the cold door which lead to Solas’ study. Wind brushed her cheeks, cool air on warm skin. Her forehead rested on the wood. Fingers found uneven fractures, the rough places the carpenters had yet to smooth. All around, the torch fires burned low. Above her head, silver stars gleamed in a clear, black velvet sky.

_Pride!_ The voices cried. _Pride! Seek out the prideful one! Pride!_

Pride. They meant Solas.

It hadn’t been Eirwen’s idea to seek him out, not since the Temple of Mythal, not since she’d chosen to drink from the Well, and certainly not since he’d revealed the truth about her vallaslin before leaving her alone in Crestwood. Yet, the voices hounded her. Demanded she see him. Demanded she see.

In the beginning, in the first few days, they’d begun as quiet whispers. Murmuring their words in ancient elvhen, a language she barely understood and still wouldn’t if not for their aid. However, over time, they had only grown louder. Like the low creeping tide pulling out to sea, until the waters rushed back and crashed upon the shore. They shouted now, demanded, insisted. A chorus of voices calling out in a spiraling cacophony, their words snagging on each other in spitting sound. She’d learned, slowly, to separate out the ones she wanted. Each and every victory a slog. Each night a torment of overflowing memories and ghostly whispers in her dreams, often laughing at her misery. Irritated by her confusion. Only in a few warm glows of elder shadows did she find some comfort, a few friends in the din. They aided as they could, but so much separated them in terms of culture and skill. The many theories they took for granted, she struggled to grasp the basics of. They were knowledgeable, but even their knowledge could not account for how much the Dalish had lost.

_Too small,_ she thought. _I’m too small to make sense of it._

Perhaps, Solas had been right. Maybe, this was why he could barely stand to look at her. Choosing to trade in her freedom for the knowledge of the past, knowledge which only proved worthless in the end. Yes, she had subdued the dragon but only after Mythal had sent it down to her.

_Done on my power or on hers?_ That was the question and why the voices believed she did not deserve them. They belonged to a true believer, not one who still questioned why her goddess would choose to take the form of a human woman. _Still better than Morrigan, right?_ Eirwen swallowed. _It must be better._

They were silent on that subject.

_Not comforting, either._

Slowly, she pulled the door open and stepped inside. Her footsteps passed down the hallway, ghosting over her own memories. Those better days when she sought out this small, secluded space to shout and curse at the world before approaching Solas in his study. He had not minded then.

_He would now._

Eirwen quickened her pace. Best to see what they wanted. Get in and out, then retreat to safety. To the myriad of other problems which required her attention. The second door cracked open with a slow wheezing creak, she pulled it back and slid into his study.

“Inquisitor.”

Eirwen watched Solas sit up. Slowly, laying a small teacup down on his desk, he was careful of the large tome resting beneath one hand and paper under the quill in his other. His brow furrowed. Gray-blue eyes narrowing between long black lashes as his mouth compressed into a thin line. All signs he was a little worried, a little angry, and a little nervous. Or, perhaps, apprehensive.

_Fen!_ The voices shouted. _Fen! Fen! Fen!_

“Good evening,” she said. Crossing to the small couch on the far side of the room, she settled into the pillows and couldn’t quite help slumping sideways. They’d spent many long afternoons snoozing on this couch. It was comfortable. Familiar. A safe place to curl up and with him to focus on, the voices were kept at bay. “I have something to ask you, Solas.”

He straightened. “As always, I am at your disposal.”

_Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!_

Her nails scraped her temple, biting deep as she rocked forward. _Shut up!_

“Inquisitor.” The scrape of chair legs on the stone floor.

_Falon! Falon!_

_Why did you want me to see him?_ Eirwen leaned over her legs, her stomach lurching. “I think…” she trailed off. “I think I did.” The words slammed through her mind in a jumble, dozens of voices lurching and cramming against the walls. Too many spoken too rapidly for her to hear it all.

_Harel! Fen! Falon! Harel!_

His fingers were cool on her forehead, voice filled with a deeply seated concern. An emotion she had not felt for some time. “You are warm.” His fingers drifted away. “Shall I call someone to aid you?”

Eirwen paused, tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “Wolf?” she murmured. “Friend?” Her eyes squinting, closing, and she swallowed. “Harellan?” His hand rested on her shoulder. “No, Harel.” She glanced up into his eyes. “Fen’Harel.” She frowned. “Fen’Falon. The Wolf Friend. Mythal’s loyal friend.”

He visibly stiffened.

“Why do they want me to ask about Fen’Harel?”

Solas leaned forward, jaw tightening. His neck bunched, vocal chords constricting, and she watched him swallow. He was the only thing in focus.

_I’m so dizzy._ “Solas…” she trailed off. “It’s so loud.” The voices swept up through her, a pounding roar. Their voices shouting down, slamming against her ears. “Isala halani.” Too full, fit to burst. “Help? Me? No,” the words stumbled off her tongue. “Help him. Needs my help. I…”

His hand passed up her forehead, pushing back her bangs, and she felt the cold burn of magic.

His face snapped back into focus. Warm gray-blue eyes, the curves of his high cheekbones the same, the soft mouth perpetually down-turned in contemplation instead curved up into an easy smile. She saw it now, the creases and corners around his eyes. Some aged by sadness, but others by laughter. A wolf’s bone rested on his brow, on top of curling brown hair that fell down his back in long braids. The smiling face of a much younger elven male, barely older than herself. The same face as the one before her now.

Her hand rose, lay on his cheek. Fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, almost motherly as a Niah, the High Priestess in her memory once had. Her eyes burned, lashes hot with unshed tears. “Fen’Harel.”

He leaned forward, pausing before their mouths met. Waiting, hesitant.

She lifted her chin. Lips brushing over his.

His hand swept behind the back of her head and he pulled her to him, yanked her into a desperate dizzying kiss. One filled with the words which should have been spoken in Crestwood. When they entered that former wyvern’s cave, the ancient elven temple. Warm, relieved words, filled with a thousand apologies. Knocked out, the feelings came in uneven blocks, all tumbling down.

He leaned her back into the couch, tongue sliding into her mouth. Her hands slid up around the back of his head, pulling him closer. The pain of their weighted moments so fleeting. Mouth moving against his, she explored as she had so many times before. Her hips tilted up, feeling him moving between her legs. Her head spinning. _Dread Wolf._ Kissing her. _Friend Wolf._ Theirs or hers? _Ar lath ma._ The words escaping between her lips as he kissed his way down her neck. _Don’t leave me._

Her arms went around his neck, pulling herself tighter against him.

_I love you._ She gasped the hated words of a much weaker woman. _I need you._ They were entirely truthful. _Don’t abandon me._ Shameful, when he’d already left her so far behind. _I’m frightened._

It clicked together, in between his kisses. Filled in spaces between the lies. The hidden truths she’d sensed lingering beneath the surface. His reactions at the Temple of Mythal. Suspected he was ancient. Never suspected the Dread Wolf. She was glad he was, though. Or, at least, glad to know. Her mouth seized his chin and she bit down.

Heard him moan.

She hated them. The angry voices clamoring and screaming in her ears, the slavery, the bondage of her people. Maybe Mythal didn’t deserve to die, but maybe she didn’t deserve to live either. _My choice._ How could she ensnare herself? Commit to another form of slavery? Her skin bared under the dawn’s light, the removed markings could not undo the weight she now carried in her soul. She was trapped. _Ir abelas, Solas._

His fingers drifted down her throat, unpinning the golden buttons of her shirt.

_I should have listened._

Her hands trailed down his cheeks. Widened eyes studying him, drifting over the curves of his cheeks, his parted lips, to find relief and sadness in his gentle eyes. “Fen’Harel,” she said. “I’m not sure how to stop loving you.”

His mouth tugged sideways, the memory of a smile. “I do not either, vhenan.”

Tears trickled off her lashes, dripped down her cheeks, and struck the cream colored pillow. “I wish you were still here.”

“I am,” he replied. Once again, his mouth covered hers. “For however long you stay.”

Eirwen closed her eyes, sinking into his warm embrace. In the darkness of it, she fell. Down and down, down into him. Free inside the empty quiet of her mind. Free to fall. For now, she was.

 

***

 

Hours later, she woke to fingers gently stroking her hair. Her head rested on a warm thigh and overhead, she heard the soft rustling of documents. Sheaves of paper, moving and settling, though the hand’s movements was never interrupted.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana’s voice. “You are awake.”

“Yes.”

“Dorian found me this morning, he was quite concerned.” The older woman glanced down with her clear blue eyes. “He was quite upset for, in your sleep, you were crying,” Leliana said. “Poor dear, he was nearly beside himself.” Her head tilted and she smiled. “Forgive my intrusion, I felt it best not to disturb you. However, I also could not leave you.” She laughed. “I used to love it when my mother would stroke my hair as I slept. I felt it might give you some comfort. Ease your dreams.”

“Serannas,” Eirwen murmured. Slowly, she sat upright and glanced around. They were in Solas’ study, seated on his couch. The couch she’d covered with a white sheet to preserve it, much like the desk in the center of the room. Overhead, she heard the bustling movement of “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“You seek the comfort of the familiar,” Leliana replied. “There is no shame in that. For my part, I am sorry I have not turned up better news.”

Eirwen leaned back into the sheet, it pinched against her back. The voices wiggled in her mind, soft once again. She understood now. Dreams were they only way they and she could communicate. _I need to find Fen’Harel._ Solas either knew something about Fen’Harel or, maybe, he was Fen’Harel. _It would be easier if they were clear._ “We’ll just have to keep looking.”

“As you say.” Leliana laughed. “However, first we must get you bathed and dressed.”

“And fed,” Eirwen said.

“Certainly! I believe Josie has an entire itinerary planned for the day. You must be properly prepared to face it.”

 

***

 

Solas woke slowly, stiff. Overhead, braches shifted and twisted with the morning breeze. His hand found his staff. Before him, the great ruins of Caer Dalath loomed. Their spires climbing above the trees in great iron spikes. “A dream?” he whispered. Long ago, he had resolved not to think of her. Not to even see her in his dreams. It was too dangerous. The very thought lead to him stretching out his mind, to touch and cradle, to caress her sleeping mind. The longer he stayed away, the stronger the temptation grew. If he did not stop himself, he might simply turn and head for home.

_Fen’Harel._ Her voice lingered in his mind, her warm summer eyes fixed upon him. _I’m not sure how to stop loving you._

How many times had he dreamed of his true name on her lips? Spoken to him as in the same tone as she did with the one he had assumed? Those dreams were beyond counting and they had crumbled the moment he had swallowed the truth in Crestwood. When he ended the liaison between Inquisitor Lavellan and himself.

_The voices, they want me to help Fen’Harel._

A fancy of the mind, perhaps. Even if the dream was true, and it was her, and he had done what he always wished to every time she came to see him before their battle with Corypheus, there was little to be done about it now.

It all fell away in time.

_Please, don’t abandon me._

He had never deserved her.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he whispered to the cool morning breeze. “You are ever in my thoughts.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know! It's all a dream is so cheap!!!!!!
> 
> Except, it's also real. So ha!
> 
> This is an alternate universe story based on a Tumblr prompt I received. Eirwen never drank from the Well and I have no Lavellan who did (since I never finished my Rogue's playthrough). So, this is what Eirwen would be like if she drank from the Well. It was never really in her personality to make that choice, though she did consider it. As much as I liked what we got from the quest itself, the Well choice has been very meh to me. Mostly because it's so limiting and while the potential consequences they actively affect so little on the actual game. When the other DA games did it, they did it better. That's my personal opinion on the subject, anyway. My fic on _On the Wings of Ravens_ is me dealing with a similar subject in a way I personally find more interesting.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. All comments and kudos are appreciated!


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